


On the Battlefield

by Wicked42



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Gift Fic, WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP, Whump, also semi-graphic depictions of injury, but definitely not my worst XD, did i mention whump, romance or friendship, take how you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42
Summary: Turns out, Horde Prime's new bots have new bullets, too. And these ones are kind of fatalistic.Or, post-redemption arc, Adora is hurt on the battlefield, and Catra goes on a revenge spree.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 190





	On the Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alettepegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/gifts).



> For Alettepegasus, who is awesome in every way. Go [read her fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20406526/chapters/48404968)\--it's her longest one yet and she's been working really hard!! :D :D 
> 
> Her prompt: post-redemption, "I'm fine," "no you aren't"

She—She said duck.

Adora had shouted it across the battlefield. And after months of resynchronizing their attacks, relearning each other in battle, Catra fell on old habits. She _listened._ And she shouldn’t have. She should have known, should have fucking figured it out—

Because Adora was never concerned about herself in a firefight.

“You—no. No, no. Wake up! Adora, don’t you dare—”

But her stammering fell on deaf ears. Adora’s cloudy grey eyes were partially hidden behind drooping lids, her stare vacant enough to send a chill up Catra’s spine. And the blood. So—So much blood. For two people who had been raised in an army, developed in a war zone, Catra shouldn’t have cared so much about blood.

But it was _Adora’s_ blood, so of course she did.

Catra ducked.

Adora hadn’t.

“Wake _up_ ,” Catra snarled, grabbing her best friend’s shoulders so hard her nails pierced flesh. It saturated the air, metallic and sickening. Catra’s hair fell over her eyes as she pressed her hands against Adora’s wound, applying hard pressure.

Harder pressure.

Maybe if she pressed enough, Adora would open her eyes.

A creaking groan sliced across the battlefield. Another one of Horde Prime’s bots. They were upgraded, far superior to anything Hordak could conceive, even with Entrapta’s help. No, these bots were fast, strong, smart.

And equipped with a bullet designed to unfurl inside the body, slice someone from the inside out. If the impact didn’t you, the shrapnel would.

Adora’s hand was limp against Catra’s chest.

She’d had the _audacity_ to whisper an apology before—before—

“Aaargh!” Catra howled, leaving Adora in her puddle of blood to streak towards the last bot left kicking. Her claws slammed through its view piece, the only vulnerable part of its mechanical body, and grabbed the camera inside. She yanked it out, using her foot to shove the bot into the ground.

Her hand shook as she looked at the lens. In it, her distorted reflection was bloodstained and tear-soaked.

But her eyes were two pinpricks of fire.

“You won’t get away with this,” she snarled. “If she dies, I’m coming for you next.” And without another word, she slammed the lens on the ground and smashed her heel into it. The glass cut through her bare foot, but she barely noticed, heart pounding like it was.

Adora.

Catra staggered back to her dying friend, swallowing a sob.

* * *

They were too far from Bright Moon. Catra had no choice but to carry Adora to the nearest town. The people there, nameless villagers with poor medical technology, made frantic space for her. But considering they were in the middle of Horde Prime’s might, they barely had enough supplies to get through the surgery.

Catra paced outside the hut, tail swishing, emotions teetering between enraged and terrified.

Why had she ducked?

A few shouts inside made her cringe, and instead of running towards Adora—having to watch her flatline, maybe never open her eyes again—Catra turned in the other direction. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t watch a bright light like Adora, who only ever tried to help people, fall victim to the scourge she swore to defeat.

Fucking goody-goody. Catra glowered at the hut for a bare moment before stalking towards the treeline at the edge of town.

While the medics shouted for help, the woman vanished into darkness.

* * *

She tracked the bots.

They’d been planning that move for a while. Horde Prime clearly wanted to stop hunting his prey and start luring them instead, because all of his pristine bots contained a tracking beacon. Entrapta reversed the signal in seconds. The exact location of their enemy, handed to them on a silver bot’s entrails.

So, of course the Rebellion had promptly spent the next _six weeks_ arguing about whether a frontal assault was a good idea… or a trap.

The second one. Obviously. Why that needed to be _decided upon_ was beyond Catra. Horde Prime was sneaky, but this was the oldest war tactic since there were tactics in war.

It didn’t stop Catra from taking the bait now, creeping through the spindly trees to find a ship so massive it was, again, no kind of secret. A fresh set of bots were being unloaded, supervised by Horde Prime’s creepy clones. They worked seamlessly, silently, and utterly ignored their surroundings.

Why would they bother to protect themselves? They were superior in every way.

Through the lingering darkness, Catra sighted the ship’s external fuel cell.

Her lips curled into a grim smile.

Well. Superior in every way but one.

* * *

Okay, it was _kind of_ a bad idea, if only because she did _not_ calculate the time needed to flee the explosion. And she certainly didn’t add the extraneous factors of bots firing death-bullets at her while she fled into the night.

Good news: the Rebellion had now liberated the forest.

Not-so-good news: Catra staggered into the village needing just as much help as Adora had.

Blood coated her feet, slickening her toes as she struggled to walk through the soft grass. It squelched beneath her, somehow louder than the villager’s shouts, panicked calls of people who couldn’t decide between pointing at her or the smoke billowing in the distance. Some thundered up to her, their footsteps thumping in time with her heartbeat.

Her eyes settled on Adora’s hut.

Adora. Was she even still alive? Fear gripped her chest, shoving the pain away as she staggered forward again. And again, a crowd of stupid people blocked her path.

“Stop. It’s fine,” she mumbled, halfheartedly waving them away.

“You’re bleeding—!” one said, his voice fading in and out.

Catra bared her fangs. “W-Well, you’re ugly, but you don’t h-hear me com—compl—”

And that was all she managed before crashing to the ground. 

* * *

“I told you to duck,” Adora’s voice cut through the darkness.

Catra forced her eyes open, even as her hazy brain struggled to comprehend her surroundings. She’d been in the grass, and then—then they carried her inside Adora’s hut. And now she was on a cot, plush and soft and wrapped so tightly she could barely breathe.

But she _could_ breathe.

Catra counted it as a win.

Someone shifted to her left, and her ear twitched in that direction. Adora. Her scent filled the room, like a comforting fog of perfume that instantly made Catra relax. Just them in here, then. With effort, Catra turned her head to the right.

Considering the dark bags under Adora’s eyes, her pale skin, her shaky breathing and her overall near-death-ness, Catra was impressed at her deadpan expression.

“I did duck,” Catra mumbled. “You didn’t. Don’t blame me for your two and a half brain cells.”

“Hey. I have at least three.” Then Adora paused, face screwing into one of intense thought. “Wait. Three and a half.”

Catra’s mind had a hard time keeping track of this conversation, but bantering with Adora was muscle memory at this point anyway. “How’d’ya figure?”

“I beat Bow in chess. Means I must have at least a bit more than—than we thought.”

“Or you’re just a nerd,” Catra drawled.

Adora chuckled, then coughed, a wet sound that sent flecks of blood over her pillow. She groaned, gripping her side. Catra’s heart thumped harder, which just—hurt, honestly. She turned her gaze skyward instead.

After all, they’d either both die, or somehow survive to fight and die in _another_ battle.

But one thing was for damn sure: neither of them would die alone.

Silence, then Adora said, “We should _n-not_ get shot by those bots.”

“H-Hey. There’s a statement worthy of another half a brain cell.”

The End. >.>


End file.
